


The Stuff of Nightmares

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: Alfred suffers a horrific nightmare that leaves him entirely rattled and is comforted by the young Master Wayne.





	

Stormy nights were the best nights for him to get things done. He read better, focused more, when lightning flashed and thunder rumbled across the sky. Alfred had gone to bed a long time ago, taking away the soft clinks of dishes being washed and general movement of other life beyond the young Bruce Wayne. The silence that came over the house was utterly peaceful and calmed his often agitated mind.

So when something rippled that silence, broke through it, of course he heard. He perked up and stilled, listening intently for...something. 

It was so faint, distant from his room there… 

He stood, slowly, his brow pinched in thought and curiosity, and crept into the hall. His shoes didn’t make a sound, his hands curled into fists on instinct. 

Bruce went through one hall into a bigger one, where the echoes got louder, and finally he could make them out.

Screaming. It was screaming, horrible, tortured screams that sent cold sweat down his back and goosebumps on the back of his neck. 

But there was only one person it could be. 

“Alfred!” He ran, bolting through the house as fast as he could, until his lungs were on fire and pinched. Why was Alfred’s room so far away from everything else? It only occurred to him now; there were plenty of guest rooms gathering dust--

He hated when his brain did that, went off focus when something horrible was happening. There were people in the house, hurting Alfred, Alfred was, was scared and screaming he had to help. 

The stairs were worn, and his ankle twisted under him, sending him flat onto the stone, skinning his hands and knees, but it didn’t stop him. He stood, the wind still out of his lungs, and bolted once more, bursting into Alfred’s room to stop the people hurting him, to save him from-- 

No one. 

Alfred was tangled in his sheets, sweat glistening off his bare chest, his expression twisted in horrible, gut-wrenching pain, the fear evident in his voice. 

He only paused because of what he was saying. He was begging for relief, for death, his voice ragged, breathy, weak… 

Something horrible happened to him, something Bruce could never, ever fathom in his young life, and Alfred was trapped there now, reliving it again. 

He practically launched himself across the room and touched Alfred’s shoulders, gently shaking his shoulder. “Alfred! Alfred! Wake up! Wake up!” 

“Wait, no, please--!”  Alfred sat up, dog tags clinking around his neck, eyes wide and terrified. He shook, eyes focusing first on the room, then on Bruce. 

“M-Master Bruce?” He stammered. “What’s wrong? A-are you--” 

“You were screaming,” Bruce said softly, touching his shoulder. Alfred was still shaking. “Screaming and, and I...I thought you were hurt. Are you okay?” 

Alfred blinked at him, his hand gently cupping his neck, thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’m awake now, aren’t I?” He asked, searching Bruce’s face. “Please tell me I’m awake, Master Bruce.” 

“You-you’re awake, Alfred,” he promised, concern brimming in his dark eyes. He leaned into his touch, just a little. Just enough. “You’re awake. I’m here.” 

Bruce blinked in surprise when Alfred embraced him just as tight as he could, pulling his slender frame flush with his bare chest, holding him. A moment’s hesitation, and he succumbed to his hug. 

“Shh, shh…” He soothed, , slowly turning his face into his neck. “You’re safe now, Alfred. Whatever you were dreaming about can’t get to you.”

For once, Alfred was quiet. He held onto him, his tremors dying slowly. His cheek rested against his head, the tension very much alive in his shoulders and the rest of him. Despite his best efforts to relax and calm himself in front of Bruce, as per usual, his heart continued pounding, his throat stayed tight and that unrelenting panic stayed. This was stuck. It was stuck at the forefront of his mind and he was so, so scared. He loathed his own weakness. 

Bruce didn’t see it that way. Alfred was always there for him, he could spare a night and help him. He didn’t know what to say, what he could honestly do to help him. So he held him, staying close, his breath soft on his skin. 

He smelled like home. His cologne, his soap, all lingering on his skin which had its own soft scent that made him feel at ease, comfortable, safe. Everything about him was safe. 

Alfred felt his hands on his body, idle fingers touching the scars that littered his skin, inklings as to what he may have been dreaming about. It took everything he had to keep himself from shivering. His nose brushed the column of his throat, forehead pressing in the hollow and just...breathing. 

“Alfred?” 

He swallowed and looked down at the boy, swallowing. “Y-yes, Master Bruce?” He met his eyes, and again he felt the need to shiver. 

“You can relax. You, you’re still scared, I can tell.” He said, blinking up at him. 

“Well… It’s not always that easy, Master Bruce. It…” He cleared his throat. “Old wounds. I’ll be alright.”

“Do...do you want to talk about it?” He offered. 

“Not particularly,” he confessed, sighing gently. He looked at Bruce, who was frowning in concern, and sighed again. “War isn’t fun for anyone. Never is.” 

“I know that,” Bruce said, still frowning at him. “But...But you sounded really scared. Like someone was hurting you and… I just want to help.” 

Alfred sat up a little more, acutely aware that he was naked to his waist in front of Bruce, likely for the first time in young Master Wayne’s life, and he was a little self conscious about it. 

Bruce didn’t think he had anything to be self conscious about. Yes, this was the first time he’d seen him without proper clothes on, and he never would have thought all this was underneath. Alfred had tattoos - one on his left shoulder, one on the inside of the opposite arm, right where his sleeves covered him, and one on his ankle that he’d gotten a glimpse of when he first came in. Most of his torso was decorated with scars of varying shapes, causes and placements. 

He only recognized the one on his gut, still fresh and pink, soft. It was far better taken care of than most of the others and would likely blend with his skin someday. Right now it was a gut wrenching reminder of Bruce’s own failings. Without thinking, he reached out and touched it, delicately letting his fingertips trace it from top to bottom, his face screwed up in concentration. 

“People hurt you over there, didn’t they?” He asked quietly, turning his dark eyes up to his guardian’s face. “Not in battle but, but to hurt you. Reggie said something that hinted at it, but…” 

Alfred had been holding his breath without realizing, staring at Bruce, watching him touch him so delicately. He spoke softly, with so much care in his little face that escaped most people when they sought it. Bruce cared, he had so much compassion in his heart it was sometimes overwhelming. He was so... _ good.  _ The purity he had was fading, and had been since his parents died, but there was still that...love. It was love. Just shown differently. 

He cleared his throat, voice quiet. “Yes, Master Bruce. I was taken prisoner before, for a long time. Certainly wasn’t pleasant, not something I care to think about too often but… Torture’s a haunting thing.” 

“Your dream.” 

“My neverending nightmare,” he whispered, looking away. “Time helps, but every now and then…” 

“Does anything help?” Bruce asked, cocking his head, palm resting on his chest now. 

“Used to drink quite a lot, get in more fights, distract myself with whatever I could get my hands on. I stopped all those habits when I came to work for your family,” he said. “I had company and that...made it better. Bit better.” 

Bruce pursed his lips. “When you got away, your friends, the other soldiers, they didn’t--?” 

“Nah, that’s different, Master Wayne. Those men...you look in their eyes and they pity ya. They know a dozen or more people that went through the same thing and didn’t make it. Half of em got a taste of what happened to me before. They all had their own echoes to go with it and I was a walking reminder for all of them,” he said, staring at Bruce’s hand on his skin. “Being here...I had peace. Just to  _ be,  _ that’s all. None of those looks, none of the ghosts.” 

“So...you need company,” he decided.

“I’ll be fine, you need to get to bed.” That authority had reentered his tone, but Bruce didn’t look perturbed by it. He  stood up, and Alfred hated that hollow pang that hit his chest when the warmth of his hand left. The young man paused for only a moment, thinking, then started getting out of his layers of clothes. 

“The hell are you doing?” Alfred asked a little too sharply, his nervousness biting at his throat. 

“Keeping you company and going to bed,” he said simply, down to his undershirt and pants now. 

“Master Wayne, that’s really not necessary, you should be in your own--” 

Bruce climbed up into bed beside him, smiling at him a little. Alfred had to smile a touch, knowing that this cheeky shit had made up his mind and wouldn’t be going anywhere. “This is fine,” he assured, nestling under the covers and lying on the opposite pillow. 

It smelled like him, the bed. That scent of home, of safety, surrounded him and he let out a quiet sigh of contentment. He turned his soft eyes up to Alfred, silently inviting him to lie down as well, which he did after a moment. 

This boy would be the death of him, that much was obvious. He looked at him, lying down and facing him, the pair of them scantily clothed and close enough to feel the heat of each other. 

“This better?” Bruce whispered, scooting a little closer to him. 

Alfred swallowed, nodding. “It is, actually. Thank you, M-Master Bruce.” Bruce smiled again, shutting his eyes and curling up to sleep, nestled so close. 

Alfred never thought Bruce the cuddly type, but he wound around him soon enough. It took about twenty minutes before his head was on his chest, arm draped across him, body flush against his side while lost in sleep. Alfred remained tense, fighting himself, fighting not to give in to what he wanted. What he knew wasn’t right. What could potentially harm Bruce forever and it would be his doing. But what real harm was there in holding him? 

He let out a breath, tension leaving him slowly. He wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling him close. He pressed his nose into his hair, nuzzling him, just a little. He needed the reminder of where he was, why he did what he did, why every ounce of Hell gone through was worth it. It brought him here, to Bruce. The boy cooed, turning his face in his chest, the gentle image the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him again. 

~*~

Bruce slowly blinked awake when the heart beneath his ear sped profusely and hammered loudly. He looked up drowsily, remembering bit by bit what had brought him here. Alfred. 

Alfred who was sweating again, his lips parted, his entire body tense and starting to tremble. Soft sounds came from his throat, wordless pleas his nightmare ignored. 

“Alfred, Alfred, wake up,” he whispered, shaking him gently. “Wake up, it’s okay. It’s okay” 

Once again Alfred gasped and sat up, tremors rocking him, eyes wide until they found Bruce. “Fuckin’ hell, again?” He asked, catching his breath. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I got you, it’s okay,” Bruce promised, voice sincere, his eyes brimming with compassion. It made his heart ache. 

“Thank you, I, I appreciate it. I’m sorry I’m still...that I…” 

Bruce cut off his stammering with a gentle press of his lips to his chest, eyes more daring and a little nervous when he looked back up at him. “I promise, it’s alright.”

Alfred touched his chin, then his jaw, snaking around to cup his face altogether. “You’re too good for this town, you know that?” He whispered. “All that goodness doesn’t have a place here.” 

The boy sat up a little, expression determined now. “I do too. Here.” Before Alfred could even think about what was happening Bruce was kissing him. It was soft, gentle, innocent with just a touch of passion beneath it all. Authority and firmness too. All of that from this one, carefully placed kiss. He couldn’t breathe when Bruce pulled away, eyes briefly trained on his mouth. “I belong here,” Bruce nodded, committed to his choice.

“O-of course you do,” he said softly, holding him tighter. “You will always belong right here. Always. But you, you shouldn’t...we shouldn’t-” 

He kissed him again, that intensity flaring up in his expression. “Alfred, I’ve made my decision, and that’s final.” 

A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth. “Then you need to know how to kiss properly, don’t ya?” 

“I do-?” Bruce melted under Alfred’s control, keeping his soft mouth slack to follow Alfred’s movements, a thrilling tremor going up his back at the thought of doing this. Of kissing him… He stayed close when they broke apart, his face still between Alfred’s callused hands.  He was flushed, gasping, heart thundering violently against his ribs. 

“That’s how you kiss a man, you hear me?” Alfred growled, just a breath away from him. Goosebumps rose on Bruce’s skin and he nodded. “I need to hear you say it, Master Bruce. I need you to say you understand me.” 

“I-I understand,” he shivered. 

Alfred smiled. “Prove it.” A quiet hum of pleasure loosed itself when Alfred kissed him again, still a little clumsy and hesitant, but he learned quickly. He sat up and moved into his lap, hands on his chest, acutely aware of just how little they were wearing. Alfred’s breath hitched and he moaned into Bruce’s mouth, arms tightening around him. “Easy,” he whispered, fingers digging into his narrow body. 

“You started it,” Bruce said pointedly, cheeks flushed. 

“I did, yeah. But I’m not sure you’re quite ready to finish it, love.” He said, thumbing his lip. 

“H-how long til I’m ready for that?” He stammered, scooting a little closer to him, which caused Alfred to stifle another moan. 

“That depends on you,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Whether or not you’re ready. There’s a lot to learn.” 

“Teach me,” he demanded. “Please. Please, I want to know.” 

Alfred smirked, tapping his chin. “Let’s see how this goes, eh?” Another kiss that sent his head spinning, his chest warm and settled. This felt...good. Very, very good. He couldn’t even see straight. Alfred smiled, pulling back just a little. “Made up your mind about this too?” 

“I have,” he promised, lunging for another kiss, which he took. 

Alfred gave a gentle nod. “Of course, sir. As you wish.” 

He’d never been gladder for a nightmare.


End file.
